


come to my side, got time to kill

by pparker (sympathize)



Series: Ammonia Works like a Charm [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Anxiety, Peter Parker Whump, Peter almost dies, Sassy Peter Parker, Swearing, Team Red, Team as Family, but they love each other - Freeform, ha, haha - Freeform, just a little bit, matt’s just mad at the whole world, red team - Freeform, wade reliably pisses matt off all the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-05 21:23:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18374339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sympathize/pseuds/pparker
Summary: Peter gets hurt.The others aren’t necessarily sure how bad it is, or how it happened for that matter.Enter: chaos.





	1. no one's safe here for a while

**Author's Note:**

> lord almighty my browser history after this one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have seen the trailor; i have seen the picture. i have seen the mountaintop, the promised land. my eyes have seen the light. 
> 
> speaking of which, i got tickets to opening night bitches!!! whoo

Peter collapsed to the ground as his one functioning web shooter ran out of fluid, biting his lip to keep tears back. A strangled groan escaped him when his left shoulder took most of the impact, the dislocated joint burning.  

Panic clawed at him as he pushed himself from his stomach to his back, and he was doing his best to brush off how his body was _screaming_ at him to make it stop, _make it all stop._ Panting, he ignored the way the gravel from the roof was digging into his unmasked head, instead focusing his attention on the overwhelming pain just above his left hip.

He glanced down at his side fast enough to see there was _too much blood,_ even over the red of his suit.

Fucking mob bosses. Fucking _stab wounds._

He let his head fall back down with a thump and a sharp exhale, the small effort of keeping it up dizzying. _Fuck._ He- was going to have to stop the bleeding.

Peter wanted to cry just thinking about it.

But he was ordering himself to _breathe_ because if he didn’t do this, there was a very big, very real chance he would bleed out and die right here on this rooftop. All alone, with no backup and no one to hold his hand. So he had to do this.

Peter steeled himself, squeezing his eyes shut and blinking them back open. “Come on, Peter, you got this. It can’t be that bad,” he whispered as he moved his uninjured arm across his body, his hand hovering uncertainly above the wound. “Come on, it’s not that bad, it’s not that-” He broke off with a choked scream as his hand touched his skin. He forced himself to press down, biting his lip till it bled as agony raced through him. Spreading his hand flat over the wound as fast as possible, he found himself deliriously hoping the blinding pain would dull the faster he blocked it.

Apparently, it _could_ be that bad.

After a moment, he came back to his senses enough to close off part of the hurt. Peter’s ears were ringing, the noise deafening. He was still gasping shaky, hitching breaths, and he distantly felt sticky tears rolling down his face.

Out of nowhere, a mantra from one of those stupid fifth-grade emergency assembles started looping in his mind: assess and destress. Assess and destress assess and destress assess and destress.

A hysterical laugh bubbled out of his lips. How the hell was he supposed to _destress_ when he had a fucking _hole_ in the middle of his _body._

Okay. So, assess.

Sucking in a lungful of air, Peter slowly eased his hand off his side. He sluggishly spread his fingers and could see the ragged, split edges of a _gaping_ wound before the stream of red returned. Peter gagged, his stomach trying to rebel, and slammed his hand back down.

Shit. Shit shit shit _shit._

This was never supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to even _be on patrol,_ much less lose his mask, and he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to _get fucking impaled-_

“Okay. Okay, okay. Okay. Focus, Parker, focus.” He couldn’t tell if he was shaking because of the impending panic attack or the blood loss, and he wasn’t sure which he preferred. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Nono _no._ He couldn’t lose it right now, he needed to _focus._

“Alright. Phone,” he wheezed. “Need my phone. 

He couldn’t help the half of a sob that escaped him when he realized his one good arm was currently keeping his blood volume inside of him. Peter snapped his mouth shut, cutting the cry off halfway, and he needed to _fucking think god damn it._  

He couldn’t move his hand, he couldn’t afford to take that risk. So it didn’t fucking matter if his shoulder was dislocated, he needed _help._

Peter twitched his fingers and pain bolted down his arm. He dug his teeth into his lower lip until it bled and started to inch his arm closer and closer to the phone tucked in his belt. The tendons in his arm could’ve been on fire for all he knew, but he kept pushing himself until his fingers brushed the cool metal.

He desperately yanked the phone out and clicked through it solely on muscle memory, too concentrated on keeping the device in hand to pay attention. Peter ignored how the screen was swirling in front of him, and frantically hit the first name that came up on his recent calls list. He barely made out the “ _DD”_ on screen before propping his screaming arm on the pavement and practically ramming the phone against his ear. He listened to it ring. And ring and ring and oh God what if he didn’t pick up and-

“…ou better have a good reason for calling me at this time of night, kid.” 

Peter wasn’t sure where the ringing in the phone ended and the ringing in his ears started, and it took a moment for him to process the older vigilante was talking.

“D... Matt?” A wet, heavy cough tore through his lungs and he was left fighting for air. White spots took over his vision, and he had to wait for the lightheadedness to fade a bit before he could focus again.

The man seemed to know exactly what was happening. “Where are you?”

His brain was too scrambled by _hurt hurt hurting_ for the words to sink in. “Matt, I-I tried to get as close as I could, bu-ut my web fluid’s gone an-and I can’t go any far- _shit!”_ Peter gasped. His hand slipped off his side and a disturbing amount of blood gushed out in its place.

White swarmed his vision and- and _Jesus fuck_ he was going to throw up. This was so bad. So, so, so _incredibly_ bad. Peter was gasping, sucking air in faster than it could go out. He didn’t know if it was because of the shock or the anxiety but he couldn't _afford_ for it to be the latter and Jesus _Christ_ he needed to get a _handle_ on himself.

Matt seemed to share the sentiment. “Peter, you need to calm down. If you don’t, you _will_ hurt yourself more. Do you understand?” When he didn’t answer, the man’s voice sharpened. _“Do you understand?”_

“Y-Yes.”

“Alright. Now I need you to tell me where you are, kid.”

Peter forced himself to think, to remember, to go back and—god _damn it_ what was that last sign? “I-I think, uh, forty-sixth and ten-tenth. I don’t- I... by a water tank. Roof.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly too dry and tongue too thick. Peter couldn’t feel his feet. Or his hands. He tried lifting his head off the concrete, but couldn’t make it more than a few inches off the ground before his vision swam so violently he thought he would be sick.

Peter groaned and let the nausea die down before he blinked. And blinked again. But the blurriness wasn’t going away and... and _fuck,_ he was dizzy.

“Okay. I’m a little ways away but I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay?” There was a pause, and Peter could vaguely make out hurried shuffling through the phone before Matt continued. “I’m gonna have to hang up really quick, but I swear I’ll call right back. But you have to stay awake, Pete, you hear me? _Stay. Awake.”_

“Yeah.” He was starting to slur, the edges of his words melting into each other. “I can... I can try.”

The dial tone beeped in his ear when Matt hung up, once, twice, three times. Peter’s head was fucking _spinning,_ and all he wanted to do was close his eyes. He let the phone fall out of his hand, relieved he no longer had to hold it to his ear.

God, he was so dizzy. So, so dizzy. His chest was going to collapse if he got any dizzier. No, wait, that didn’t... it was his _head_ that was dizzy. Right? He shivered slightly and vertigo washed over him with the movement. Nope, no, it was definitely all of him that was dizzy.

Peter’s head tipped to the side, and his cheek smashed into the ground with a groan. The ringing in his ears only magnified the way the world was twisting around.

It hurts. Everything _hurts._ God, it was _so_ hard to keep his eyes open. Maybe he could just- just rest. Just for a little bit.

 

**______________________________**

 

“Dammit, Peter, you had one job. Stay the fuck awake.” Matt had never regretted asking Claire for help more than when he lowered the phone, still in the middle of redialing Peter’s number. His pace quickened to a full-blown sprint, and he climbed the rails of the building faster than he ever had before.

The sudden surge of adrenaline subsided slightly as he pulled himself onto the roof of the building and hopped lightly to his feet. Dread took its place as he paused, taking a second to locate the kid, and… oh. Oh fuck. Of course.

“Peter!” he yelled. Matt raced to the limp body, kneeling beside him just in time for him to jerk awake.

Panicked whimpering exploded from Peter as his hands jumped into a defensive position, and Matt was overwhelmed by the scent of iron. Even though the kid calmed down as soon as faint recognition sunk in, the racing heartbeat didn’t slow.

“Hey, hey there, Pete.” Matt grabbed his wrists with one hand in an effort to keep him still, and the feeling of slick blood coating the both of them was almost enough to make him gag. How much blood could he have possibly lost if this was just what was on his hands?

His free hand quickly floated down to what was clearly the source of the gore, trying his best to avoid unnecessary contact. But when his fingers brushed against the skin, Peter yelped and curled away from the touch.

Matt _hated_ how such a simple movement managed to bring a fresh wave of metal to the air. “Hey, hey, don’t move buddy, okay? You gotta stay still for me.”

Christ. Why wasn’t it stopping?

Without giving it too much thought, he peeled his suit jacket off and paused, gritting his teeth before stuffing it against Peter’s side. Immediately, his entire body tensed, his back arching off the ground as his mouth stretched open in a silent scream. But it left as fast as it came; before Matt could even speak, Peter was laying limp, trembling and whimpering.

“Shit, Peter, I’m sorry. I should’ve given a heads up,” he apologized. He knew the kid was already disoriented (and _scared)_ but he just wasn’t thinking. About that, at least.

There was no way in hell he was getting Pete off this roof himself. He needed _help,_ and that didn’t change with the fact the kid’s mask was nowhere in sight. Foggy was out of the question, Jones was out of town doing God knows what, he would kill Castle before accepting any help from him, and Wilson... Wilson.

With his free hand, he unlocked his phone and navigated to the call app. Once it was open, Matt dropped it to his side and grabbed Peter’s arm in its place. He needed an easier way to keep track of his heartbeat, so his pulse was going to have to do. His fingers stumbled down his forearm until they hit the heel of his palm, and Matt dug them into the soft flesh.

It was barely there—thready, weak. Fading.  

“Call Wade, speaker!” Matt yelled. He felt the full body flinch under his palm and heard the startled gasp from Peter. His voice lowered as he winced apologetically. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to scare you- come _on_ Wade! Answer your goddamn phone, for _once.”_

The merc picked up on the fourth ring and immediately launched into a jaunty greeting. “Hey, Matty-bear. What’s got you calling this time of night, huh? Late night booty c-”

“Wade.” Matt cut him off, and the weight in his voice was enough to silence the man. “Spider-Man’s down,” he ground out. Blood was already seeping through his blazer and he pushed harder, ignoring the shaking moan from Peter. 

Wade’s voice dropped, all traces of humor gone. “What.”

“Yeah, it’s... it’s bad. I can’t move him by myself. Can you get here in five minutes? Ten max? I know you’re in the city, but I don’t-... Wade, this is really, _really_ bad. If I don’t get some backup...” He shook his head, not wanting to finish the sentence.

“Where are you.” 

Matt let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. “We’re on a roof.  A few buildings down from the corner of forty-sixth and tenth."

“I’m on my way, Murdock. Don’t you fucking _dare_ let him die.”  

When Wade hangs up, the whimpers have stopped, and Peter’s arm is dead weight.

“Peter. Hey Peter, hey buddy, come on.” Matt dropped his wrist and patted at his cheek, desperation creeping into his voice. “Peter, you gotta stay awake for me, yeah? Come on, come on.”

He held his breath as he listened for Peter’s heartbeat. It was faint, still too fast, but... it was there. He just didn’t know for how much longer.

“Peter!” He couldn’t help how his voice raised. But there was a muted groan and his eyes batted open, and relief washed through him. “Okay, yeah, that’s it, you got it. Let’s stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

One of Peter’s hands wrapped loosely around Matt’s wrist for a split second and he took that as a yes. He _really_ hoped Wilson would get there soon. The rattling, strained breathing was shaking Matt to his core. This was never, _never,_ something he imagined would happen to the kid. Never in his worst nightmares.

Matt was going to have to keep his focus up so he wouldn’t doze off again. “Okay, um, what-what are you guys learning in school? Midtown, right? Pretty advanced stuff.”

“H...Hurts,” Peter whispered, voice quiet and trembling. His whole body was shivering, and it wasn’t because of the chill in the air. Matt was talking through the lump in his throat, and he had to swallow a couple of times before he was confident his voice was stable.

“I know, I know, kid, I know,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry. Just hold on a little longer, yeah? Just a little longer. For me.”

Before Matt could do anything else, there was a violent thump and rushed curses. Footsteps charged towards the pair, and he didn’t even have time to say hello before Wade Wilson slammed into his side. Thankfully, his hands were planted firm enough to keep the pressure.

“Hey, there, Petey-pie. Got yourself into some trouble, didn’t ‘ya?” Wade’s voice was surprisingly gentle, and it was like a slap in the face to hear him say Peter’s name. He could count on one hand the number of people the kid told his identity, and he did not expect Deadpool, of all people, to be one of them. The man in question turned to face Matt. “Red, I’m gonna have to set this arm before we do anything else. It looks dislocated.”

Matt grimaced. “Try to be fast, Wilson."

Wade scoffed turned back to the boy in front of them. “Alright, Pete, on the count of three, I'm gonna pop your arm back in so we can move you. Got that?” Peter’s head twitched more than nodded, but Wade apparently decided it was as good as he was going to get. “One, two-”

A dull crack sounded from Pete’s shoulder, a soft grunt quickly following. Matt’s mouth twitched, the noises grating at his bones. 

“Sorry, Petey, it’s better when you’re not- Christ, Murdock. This is what you call a bandage?"

“Well, I apologize for wanting to stop him from bleeding out instead of dressing him for prom!” he snapped.

Wade was already peeling his own hoodie off, tearing it into strips before Matt even finished talking. He pushed Matt’s hands off and quickly tied the fabric around the blazer, securing it against the deep open wound.

“Okay, Pete,” Wade’s voice lowered into a whisper. “I have to pick you up so we can bring you somewhere safe. It’s gonna hurt. But you have to be quiet. We can’t have any concerned civilians sticking their noses where they don’t belong, right?”

Peter barely had time to shake his head before Wade was easing his arms underneath him. A pinched, shuddering moan wracked his body and Matt pursed his lips. God, he hated this.

The merc straightened with Peter in his grip, the kid’s hand twisted in the fabric of Wade’s shirt as he battled unconsciousness. The muffled gasps of pain weren’t worth it, and Matt quietly said, “Peter, it’s okay. You can go back to sleep now.”

Wade was silent until Peter’s eyes closed and his breathing slightly calmed. “I assume we’re going back to your place?” He nodded. “Alright, then, Murdock. You ready to get this hell of a show on the road? Because, as much as I love getting fatally injured, Spidey here ain-“

“Okay! Enough! Jesus _Christ.”_ Matt was already opening the door that led from the rooftop to the staircase, wanting to be ahead of the merc to take care of any possible obstacles. He wasted no time getting the door propped open with the stop, but waited until he was _absolutely sure_ Peter was secured in Wade’s grip before starting the descent.

Fast, steady footsteps followed him down the flights of stairs, the pace fast but even enough to keep the makeshift bandage in place. They burst out of the stairwell into an alleyway, and Matt instantly recognized the smell of laundry detergent from the launder on the corner. He’ll give the kid some props, he made it extremely close to his apartment, only a few blocks away.

“I’ll follow you,” Wade muttered, and they took off down the sidewalk. They sped down the streets until they came up on Matt’s apartment building, and the whole time he was praying Claire was already there.

Matt ran up the stairs to his loft, Wade tight on his heels. Without even trying the lock, he barreled through his own door shoulder first and sent it flying against the wall.

A startled Claire Temple was standing in the middle of his living room, only to jump out of the way as Wade rushed by her to Matt’s bedroom. She stopped Matt from following with two hands on his chest and a firm stance. “I need you to get all the medical supplies you have before you go in there. And a towel. Actually,” she cut herself off, thinking for a moment. “many towels, now that I think about it.” 

He nodded minutely before darting over to the couch as Claire hurried over to where Wade was laying Peter on the hardwood floor of the bedroom. Dropping into a low crouch, Matt tugged the large heavy metal box out from underneath the sofa. It took a few pulls before it was free. He groaned a bit as he wedged his fingers in between the metal and the floor, pulling the corner up and sliding his palms under the kit.

A surprised yelp and a pained grunt echoed out of the room, and Matt’s heart dropped to his feet at the noise. He instantly scooped the first aid kit into his hands and ran, bursting through the doorway to a now-conscious Peter trying to fight off the two people trying to help him.

“Hey, hey! Pete, stop! Cut it out!” Matt dropped the kit by his feet and lunged for the trio, crashing to his knees. He pinned the kid’s shoulders to the ground so Wade could get away from the swinging fists.

He stuck his face in his eyeline, hoping to _God_ the familiarity would get him to stop fighting. “You need to calm the fuck down, or I’ll get Wade over here to make you, okay?”

The aggression bled from him at the harsh tone, but Peter’s chest was still heaving. “No... hospitals,” he gasped.

“No hospitals,” Matt reassured.

Peter nodded jerkily and his hands fell out of the fists. Matt was able to lessen the pressure on his shoulders so his hands were just resting there instead of holding him down, but the adrenaline quickly dissolved and Peter went slack. Not quite unconscious, but with his eyes glazed over and half closed, he was pretty close.

“You know, you forgot to mention it was Spider-Man when you called,” Claire said as she moved away from her spot against the wall. Matt could only assume she’s dodged Peter’s wild blows and ended up there.

“It was unnecessary,” he murmured. He lifted his hands off Peter, only for them to start clenching and unclenching in time with the kid’s heartbeat. His teeth unthinkingly bit into his lower lip, chewing at it as worry settled over him.

Thankfully, she dropped the issue in favor of kneeling beside Peter. She lightly nudged Matt out of her way, pushing him further from Peter than he would’ve liked, but he swallowed his protests. Claire knew what she was doing. He could trust her. 

There was a light pattering as she peeled away the layers of fabric tied around Peter's middle. His labored breathing stuttered, pain lacing the sound.

“That’s. A lot of blood. Wow. Who knew such a little person had that much blood in them.” Wade’s voice was a morbid mix of surprise and curiosity.

“What-” Claire cut herself off with a gasp. “Get me a suture kit, antiseptic, gauze.”

Wade immediately grabbed the oversized first aid kit from Matt’s feet and tore it open, throwing the materials at the nurse. Claire dumped hydrogen peroxide all over Peter’s abdomen and hip and desperately started wiping away the blood with gauze. She asked, “Do you have any anesthesia in that box?”

“Anesthetic doesn’t work on him.”

 _“What?!”_ Claire’s voice pitched.

Matt winced. “He has a reinforced metabol-” 

“Shut up. Just, just _shut up_ for _one second._ ” Only Peter’s heavy breathing broke the silence. “You are asking me to put stitches in him with no pain medication.”

“Yes,” Wade said. 

“No!” Claire said.

“He’ll die without it,” said Matt.

The following minute was completely still, Claire staring at the two of them in complete disbelief before angrily popping her jaw. “God damn the two of you,” she muttered, and leaned over so Peter could see her face. “Hey there, honey. This next part isn’t going to feel too good, so when it starts hurting, I want you to bite down on this towel, okay?”

With another one of his minuscule nods, Claire gestured for Wade to roll a towel up and hand it to her. The man quickly pulled one from the kit, and within a couple of seconds had it rolled and in her hand. She gently wedged the cloth into Peter’s mouth, making sure he knew when and where she was moving.

Matt turned away with a grimace as Claire prepared the sutures. Wade growled at the sight of the sharp needle, but that was quickly drowned out by the muffled cry that came from Peter when the needle sank into him.

Before she could even finish the first stitch, Wade was on his feet loudly proclaiming that he was going to find some food. Matt couldn’t hear his footsteps over the choked, strangled moan that soaked through the cloth in the kid’s mouth.

He squeezed his hands into fists. The only reason Peter wasn’t screaming was because he couldn’t, was because he was hurt so bad he _couldn’t scream._ And it scared him.

“Oh, my God,” Claire whispered as she started the second suture. Matt didn’t need his enhanced hearing to be able to pick up her chanting _please pass out please pass out_ under her breath.

He only turned back to face them when she got her wish, when Peter’s pain tolerance finally, thankfully, reached its limit. He was quiet, no longer crying out at the feeling of being pierced through and through.

Matt let his hands relax, only vaguely surprised to find that some of his nails had broken the skin on his palms. Now there was nothing to distract from the nauseating sound of a needle and thread dragging through skin, or the guilt dragging at his heart.

“What can I do?” Matt asked, the words strangely brittle and weak.

“What can you do? _What can you do?”_ Claire’s voice was sharp, and clattering accompanied it as she ripped through the medical bag herself. “Oh, I don’t _know,_ Matthew. How about, not ask me to put a dying child— _child—_ back together next time?” There was the distinctive sound of another packet of thread being torn open. “No, you know what? There _is_ actually something you can do. You can get out.” The bite in her tone dissolved, dropping into something quieter. “You’re blocking my light.”

Not knowing what else to do, Matt retreated to the kitchen and found himself at his stove, heating water for tea. He went through the motions almost robotically, too occupied with blocking out the awful sounds of Claire stabbing through Peter’s flesh to concentrate on making the drink.

He was just turning the stove off when Claire poked her head from the doorway of the bedroom and asked, “Wade, can you help me put him on the bed?”  

The man quickly jumped from his seat on top of the counter and Matt could distantly hear their conversation from where he was standing.

“You sure this is safe? Thought you’re not supposed to move people when they’re hurt.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just need to make sure none of the stitches popped after we get him situated.”

Matt’s jaw clenched, unintentionally grinding his teeth together as he focused on pouring the drink into the two mugs he set out. The shake in his hand was distracting and he was trying his best to make sure none of it spilled. He barely acknowledged Wade as he came back in, returning to his spot on the countertop.

That stillness didn’t last for long, an indignant noise coming from Matt as the merc leaned over the counter and grabbed the full mug right out of his hands. He sipped at the cup, pulling a face when the taste hit. “Red, what _is_ this shit?” Wade made an exaggerated gagging sound and dumped it in the sink.

Matt just blew a sigh out of his nose and picked up his own cup before walking around the island, exiting the kitchen and beelining for the sofa. He only just sat down before Wade plopped down beside him, absently humming a song under his breath.

He finally blurted out the question that had been eating at him ever since the rooftop. "How did you know his name?”

It was quiet for a moment, and he started to wonder if the other man was even listening. But then Wade popped his neck and slouched into the cushions. “Some dickhole hired me to kill him.”

Matt nodded once. Then he realized that didn’t make much sense at all. “So why didn’t you?”

“I don’t kill kids.”

Suddenly, he stood straight up and his hands in his pockets. His voice was back to its normal airy tone. "Anyways, I gotta get going, Matty-bear. Places to be, people to see, heads to sever. Revenge is a bitch. Those fuckers are just lucky they didn’t kill ‘im. Shoot one at me when Pete wakes up, text or otherwise. It’s gonna be a _long_ night.”

Matt was silent as the merc waltzed down the hall and out of the loft, slamming the door behind him. He set his tea on the coffee table and waited for Claire to come out of the corner she was lurking in.

The woman sighed and picked up the abandoned cup, downing it all in one gulp. “He’ll be fine. He just has to sleep it off.” She paused, and Matt could feel her glare burning into the side of his head. “He’s lucky." 

“I know.”

“He might not make it next time.”

“I know.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

He looked up sharply at that. Quiet anger bubbled beneath his skin, and he fought to keep his voice steady. “Do you think I just let him out into the streets so he can play superhero? No, Claire. I try to help him. I train him and give him advice and do the best I can, but do you think he’s just going to give it up because he got hurt? He won’t. He’s got this stupid idea stuck in his head that it’s his responsibility to save the whole fucking city and it’s _not._ He’s… he’s…”

“A lot like you.” The couch dipped as she sat beside him. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. It’s just… Matthew, that is a _child_ in there.”

“He’s sixteen,” he corrected.

“Matt.” The disappointment in her voice was stifling.

“I _know,”_ he growled. His fingers twitched, itching to tear one of the throw pillows in half. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Okay, then.” She sat the empty cup back on the coffee table and leaned back, silent.

Matt took advantage of the quiet and focused on his breathing, something he hadn’t been able to do quite right since the phone rang. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his pounding heartbeat, taking big breaths in and holding them before blowing out quietly.

“So, you and Foggy good?”

“Claire!” He exclaimed as his eyes snapped open.

The woman chuckled. “I’m kidding, kidding.” But the light-heartedness of the joke didn’t last and she quickly sobered up. “Really, though. He’s going to be okay.”

Matt nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

Claire stood slowly, popping her back and brushing her hands over her jeans. “I’ve got to go. Call me if he needs anything else.”

Matt said nothing else as she walked off.

The door clicked shut and a key turned in the lock behind her, and Matt finally allowed himself to slump over. His elbows hit hard on his knees and his hands buried themselves in his hair. Deep, shuddering breaths squeezed in and out of his lungs and his eyes crushed shut. Matt gasped, dry sobs raking through his body.

He only let the breakdown last for a few seconds before he sat back up. He scrubbed his hands over his face, completely drained, but… he needed to check on Peter for himself.

He blew out a shaky breath and stood up, hesitating for just a second. Matt focused in on Peter’s heartbeat and was relieved to find it was slower than it’d been all day. The kid must be asleep. Perfect.

Matt tapped his palms against his thighs and started himself into walking to the bedroom. The door was left open, and he padded softly across the floor. Being careful not to bump into the bedside table, he walked right up to the side of the mattress.

Peter was laying on his back on top of the made bed, crinkling the comforter beneath him. He was shivering, so Matt sighed softly and pulled a thick blanket out of his closet. He gently pulled it up and over the kid, tucking it in around his shoulders.

He was hit unexpectedly with the thought of waiting for the kid to wake up. Just to make sure he was really okay.

Matt entertained that thought for half a second before scoffing lightly, then turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

He made his way towards the sofa, undoing the top couple of buttons of his shirt on the way and toeing off his shoes when he made it to the piece of furniture. With one fluid motion, he flattened the throw pillow and swiped the blanket off the back of the couch before falling into the cushions.

He pulled the blanket around his shoulders and was asleep before the minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y’all tony comes in next chapter, okay? don’t worry your pretty little heads about it quite yet 
> 
> here’s a fun little fact: all the locations are accurate! there actually is a cute lil’ launder on the corner of 46th and 10, and matt doesn’t live that far away from it (according to promo material for daredevil season 3)
> 
> game time! if you can guess the song the title/chapter names come from, you’ll get a… uh… a gold star! and a shout out in the next chapter! (no cheating you fools)
> 
> part two will hopefully be up sooner than later, but. well. i’m not the most reliable when it comes to uploads. and it’ll also most likely be shorter by a couple thousand words. the only reason this wasn’t just one chapter is because i had no clue how to make it ~flow~ 
> 
> btw the anesthesia claire refers to is local and not general. matthew murdock does not have a whole ass o.r. setup in his house. that would be… dumb. 
> 
>  
> 
> *cough*  
>  
> 
> let me know if you liked it!


	2. say you’re happy (yeah, for real)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no gold star for any of y’all. for shame. 
> 
> and thank you SO much to everyone that commented, it really made my day. love you guys <3
> 
> but remember how i said this was gonna be a lot shorter? yeah, i wasn’t kidding.

_Bang bang bang bang bang._

Matt jerked awake, jolting so violently he fell off the couch. Confusion clouded his brain for only a second before-

 _Bang bang bang_ **_bang bang._ **

Inordinate fury washed over him like a tidal wave, hitting just as strong and just as fast. He flung the tangled blanket off and stalked over to his door, reminding himself to calm down on the way there. The heartbeat behind it wasn’t one he recognized, and he just a little bit pissed at whoever it was that came knocking at ass o’clock at night.

Before he even got to the entryway, the stench of too-expensive cologne and metal was overwhelming his sense of smell. Matt unlocked and swung the door open with some idea of who it could _possibly_ be, and unsurprisingly enough, found himself face to face with Tony Goddamn Stark.

The billionaire didn’t even hesitate. “Where the fuck is he?!” Stark barged through the doorway, walking right up to him and getting in his face. “Where the fuck is my kid, Murdock?”

Matt’s fingers twitched at the casual use was of his name, but he held his anger back. “Your kid?” he echoed.

“Peter Parker? Sometimes goes by Spider-Man? You know, the only super-powered minor in the building?” Stark sneered, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Jaw clenched, he stepped away from the man and closed the door. “Why are you here?” he asked, completely disregarding everything he just said.

Stark stared for a moment before taking an aggressive step forward. “When I get tens of notifications telling me he’s out in the suit, then his A.I. is offline, _then_ his vitals are dropping faster than the stock market in the thirties, I’m coming after him.”

“No, what I _mean,_ is,” Matt met him halfway, jabbing an angry finger into his chest. “why are you here, now, instead of then, when he was laying on that roof with his entire blood volume coming ou-”

“Mis’r Stark?”

His rant was cut short by the low, quiet, garbled voice of Peter himself, and Stark shot Matt a glare before striding off.

“Now look what you did,” he muttered as he trailed Stark to the bedroom. “It took so long to get him down.”

Matt walked in to Stark tripping over the abandoned first aid kit and Peter struggling to sit up, trying to push himself to his elbows. But Stark was quick to help him up, propping a pillow behind him with awkward gentleness.

“Not exactly… how I imagined you guys’ first official meeting w...would go,” Peter rasped.

Matt leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, wordlessly crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“But,” he continued, “nothing seems to be going my way lately.”

Stark huffed a bit before leaning in to get a closer look. He ran a hand through Pete’s hair and scowled at the dried blood on his fingertips. “Looks like you got a little knock on the head, huh?”

“Yeah,” Peter was still groggy, but his breath hitched and his body shuddered in pain as he said, “Icing on top of the freaking cake.”

At that, Stark seemed to notice the way Peter was holding himself and how tired he sounded. He frowned and moved the blanket down to reveal cotton bandages wrapped around Peter’s midsection, a small hint of blood staining the white fabric red. Stark poked at it lightly, stopping only at the small grunt of pain from Peter.

“Battle scars, the ladies love ‘em,” said Peter. He tried to smile, but it came off more like a grimace than anything else.

Matt caught himself shaking his head. He knew exactly what the kid was trying to do— play it off as some big joke. Wonderful. He can’t begin to imagine who he could’ve gotten that from. Matt had to bite his tongue to keep back the smartass remark he wanted to throw in Stark’s direction.

Said man snorted once, his lack of response surprising Matt. The absence was justified from the way Peter’s eyes kept drifting shut and flicking back open. He was only still conscious because of the billionaire’s presence, and for reasons he wasn’t totally sure of, that fact deepened Matt’s dislike towards the man.

“Alright, go back to bed, kiddo. Sleep off… whatever’s under those band-aids.” Stark said and tucked the blanket back around his shoulders. Peter just blinked sluggishly before humming in acknowledgment, already nodding off against the pillow behind him.

Stark needed no other indication to leave, and he patted the kid on the head one last time before walking out of the room.  Matt pushed off the doorframe and followed, taking a seat on top of the back of the couch when they entered the living area.

He rounded on Matt as soon as he reached the middle of the room. “What _exactly_ happened? Who did this?”

“We aren’t sure,” Matt said, “He just called-”

“‘We,’ what do you mean ‘ _we?’”_

“Believe it or not, Stark, he has friends other than you and everyone else in that pretentious tower.” Try as he might, Matt couldn’t quite keep the bite out of his voice.

There was a tense silence. Then Stark sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “Just,” he said wearily, “tell me what you know. Please.”

Matt exhaled deeply. “He called me for help, and when I got there he was nearly dead with a chunk ripped out of him.  I got someone to help me out, and we brought him back here to patch him up. That’s it. No one knows how, why, or when he was hurt except for him.”

Thankfully, Stark didn’t ask Matt to elaborate on who that “someone” was.

“Why didn’t you go to him before he called me? I thought you were supposed to be alerted as soon as he got hurt. You know, like a baby monitor or something?” Matt asked.

Stark scoffed. But he sounded more bitter than malicious, and the anger in his voice didn’t seem to be directed at Matt this time. “I was working.”

“I thought you handed off your company to someone else.”

“Never said it was that kind of work,” he muttered.

Stark glanced down at his watch as it pinged. With an exasperated sigh, he said, “I have to go. Can he get the suit off? I’ll fix it before he’s ready to go back out again.” He started walking back towards the room Peter was resting in.

Matt immediately jumped off the couch, defensively planting himself between Stark and the door with clenched fists.

“What is your _issue,_ Murdock? I just want to help.” Stark exclaimed. He tried to sidestep around him, but Matt shot a hand out to block him from getting any closer.

“He doesn’t _want_ your _help,”_ he growled.

“Yeah? Well, there’s a hole the size of Cap’s shield torn out of his suit, and he sure as hell doesn’t have the resources to fix it.” At Matt’s silence, his eyes narrowed. “Are you sure it’s _him_ that doesn’t want my help? Or y-”

“Don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence.” Matt snapped and shoved both hands into Stark, taking sick satisfaction out of the way he stumbled back. “You wonder why he doesn’t want your help? Why he avoided you all those months? It’s because you do _this._ You come in, offer a few quips and jokes and pretend like everything’s just fine, and then you _leave._ Without ever checking or making sure if that’s what the kid wants. And you think it’s _okay._ You think you’re _helping.”_ His voice was scalding.

Stark was quiet. Matt didn’t need eyes to see that he’d hit a nerve.

Suddenly, he said, “I’ll be back in the morning.” Stark whirled around and was shutting the door behind himself before he could say another word.

Matt bit at the inside of his mouth. God, he truly didn’t understand what Peter saw in the man. Why the kid looked up to him the way he does, he may never know. He finally uncurled his hands, picking his nails from the skin of his palms.

He turned on heel and walked into his kitchen, right up to the coffee maker. It was too early to head to the gym or to the firm, but too late to get any more sleep without being completely disoriented in the morning, so he might as well get some work done while he had the chance. Matt quickly brewed a pot and filled a cup, leaving the coffee black as he took a seat at his table. The surface was impossibly covered with case files, ones he took home after work in case he couldn’t exactly make it in the next day. Matt cracked one of the manila folders open and started drafting an opening statement for Ms. Romero.

He barely noticed the time passing, clogging through about five of the cases before the pot of coffee was empty. When he got up to refill it, he heard the telltale signs that Peter had woken up, but the kid was asleep again before the second pot finished brewing. Matt didn’t know exactly how he felt about the constant dozing on and off, but he figured the more he slept, the faster he would get better.

That second batch of coffee was enough to keep him going until about eight in the morning, which was coincidentally the time Stark came rolling back in that stupid custom Audi of his. The man only bothered to knock once before he let himself in.

“Go ahead, come right on in,” Matt grumbled. He didn’t bother looking up from his paperwork as Stark headed straight for his room. Peter was awake anyway, and it’s not like either of them were trying to keep their conversation quiet.

“Hey, Pete. Feeling better?”

“Oh, yeah. Amazing. Spectacular. Could take an army, Mr. Stark.”

“Ha _ha._ If you’re feeling that great, why don’t you take that thing off— _without_ hurting yourself more. Someone’s gotta pay for the dry cleaning when you put holes in a multimillion-dollar super suit.”

“Yeah—yeah, okay. Just give me a minute.”

“Here, let me help you with the bandages-”

“No, I’m _fine_ , Mr. Stark. Go...” A pause. “Socialize. Socially. And civilly.”

There was a beat before he blew sharply out of his nose, and heavy footsteps made their way back to the open area of the living room. Matt shut the open folder on the table as Stark loitered silently in front of him. He glowered directly at the billionaire for a few seconds, making the man visibly uncomfortable by the way he was fidgeting with his hands. Matt got up and walked behind the island, filling a cup of water and chugging it all at once. Stark cleared his throat.

Peter chose that exact moment to hobble out of the bedroom, slightly sweaty and wearing some of Matt’s clothes. The spider suit was bunched up in one of his hands. “Mr. Stark, here's the sui-”

“Why are you _walking?!”_ Matt yelled. (He did not shriek. Shrieking was beneath him and anyone that said otherwise is a liar.) “We’re not-” he cut himself off, bringing a hand to his face and rubbing at his temples. _“-ever_ mentioning this to Claire. Ever.”

All of a sudden, Peter’s face went completely slack. Horror was written all over his features and his eyes went blank. _“Shit,”_ he whispered thickly. “May. She… she’s gonna _kill_ me.”

Stark choked back a laugh. “Pete, it’s fine. I called her last night after I left. She thinks you spent the night with me.”

“Oh my God,” he muttered, utterly relieved, and propped himself up against the wall with his free hand. “Oh my _God,_ I thought I was going to _die,_ Mr. Stark.”

Matt snorted. “Alright, drama queen. At least sit down so you don’t give anyone an aneurysm.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Peter immediately stood straight up, swaying a bit as he put weight on his left leg. “Need to get used to it anyways, for patrol tonight.”

Stark froze, his eyebrow raising in disbelief. “Excuse me? You think you’re going back out there anytime soon? No, you’re grounded. Benched. On the sidelines until that-” he broke off, gesturing wildly at Peter, “-is healed.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. “You just pointed at all of me.”

“Yeah,” Stark said dryly. “I did. Three days.”

“Three days?!” Peter cried. “That’s insane. You can’t be- He can’t be serious!” His voice rose as he turned to Matt.

The man could only shrug. “Sorry, kid. As much as I hate it, I gotta agree with him on this one. All near-death experiences require at least half a week of ‘sit down time,’” he said, throwing some air quotes around the last part. “Foggy’s rule, not mine. You’re officially out of action until you’re back at one hundred percent.”

Peter’s jaw dropped, incredulous. “Wow. This is ridiculous.” He threw the balled up suit at Stark, who barely caught it before it billowed out. “Ridiculous!” He yelled over his shoulder as he limped his way back through the doorway he’d only just come out of.

“Teenagers, amirite? Blegh,” said a voice from behind them. Deadpool was casually sitting in the chair Matt abandoned, with his feet crossed and on the table. Stark jumped and whirled around, but Matt heard him coming from a mile away so he was relatively unbothered by the sight.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” he asked.

“Deadpool, at your service. No Captain, just Deadpool.” Wade bowed as mockingly one could do sitting down. It was surprisingly effective.

“What’re you doing back here so fast?” Matt asked, resigned.

A savage grin spread underneath his mask and he cocked his head slightly to the side. “Let me put it this way: you don’t have to worry about hunting anyone down later.”

Stark rubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t even want to think about what that means.”

“When did Mr. Metalhead get here, anyway?” Wade asked, swinging his feet off the table just to swipe one of the case files, oohing as he flicked it open. “Julian Martinez, twenty-three, pressing charges against his landlord for-”

“Give me that,” Matt snarled and ripped the papers out of his hands from over the counter. “Get up. Get out of my chair, you degenerate.”

He scoffed and slipped from the seat before Matt could chase him out. Matt tossed the folder back where it was, and physically pushed Wade out of the kitchen area. If that also happened to be where Stark was standing? So be it. He dealt with the merc close to every day. The stuck-up could use a reality check.

“Hey.” Wade’s demeanor took a complete one-eighty. He planted his feet and spun around, using his two inches to tower over Matt. He lowered his voice into a nearly indiscernible growl. “Let me make it clear: I’m only here for the kid. Without Pete, I wouldn’t be within a hundred feet of this place with _him,”_ he jerked his head violently at Stark, “here. The only reason I’m not dragging him out by his feet right now? Peter.”

Matt’s eyebrow quirked, trying to silently convey _“And I would be helping you if the kid wasn’t here.”_ Wade apparently got the message, letting his shoulders relax and spinning back around. He didn’t move any closer to Stark, but his stance was back to loose and uncaring.

“Okay, I’m out of here,” Stark was staring warily at Wade. “Bye, Pete.” He said loudly, and got a muffled, totally incoherent shout in response. Deadpool just stared holes into the back of his head as he made his way out.

Matt turned around and bent over, scraping the manila folders into a haphazard stack before pushing them into his bag. “Speaking of which, I have to run down to the office and hand these off to Fogs. Knowing him, I’ll be stuck there for a few hours, so there’s pasta in the fridge if you want it. Don’t touch my alcohol; you’re a grown ass man with your own money. And for God’s sake, Wade, _please_ don’t let the critically injured super-child out of the house.”

Wade just grunted in response and hurtled over the back of the couch. He tucked his hands behind his head sprawled across the piece of furniture as Matt walked out.

  
**______________________________**

 

Matt came back from the office, closing the door with his foot and throwing his bag across the entryway. It was close to ten o’clock, with Foggy spending the last thirteen hours talking in circles about the potential cross-examinations. If he stayed for any longer, Matt might’ve strangled him.

The unmistakable smell of reheated spaghetti was thick in the air, but other than that. Nothing. Unsettling, against the rules nothing _._

He went still, running his tongue across his teeth. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he muttered and strode through the empty living area and into the bedroom.

Matt swallowed a groan of frustration. The bed was made, and there was no sign of Peter.

 

_“...and now back to our local news, we have reports the vigilante Spider-Man was sighted. The Queens crime fighter has been mysteriously out of action the past two nights, leaving many to speculate he’d been injured. I believe I speak for most civilians in saying we’re glad to see him on his feet…”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made a… surprising amount of jokes in this. strange…
> 
> yeah, matt and wade aren’t tony’s biggest fan. any guesses why?  
> but there we have it lol. my first piece in what’ll (hopefully) be a big ol' universe. this was really just supposed to be a oneshot (only supposed to be about 2-3k too) but i decided— why not have some fun with it. i like to keep it pretty cool funky fresh in case you can’t tell
> 
> aaaanyways, if you liked it, leave a comment/kudos to let me know ;)


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